


Can you hold me

by Electra_Gaunt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Don't Like Don't Read, Eventual Happy Ending, I'm not sure of it though, M/M, Post-War, Romantic Relationship, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electra_Gaunt/pseuds/Electra_Gaunt
Summary: After the Second Wizarding War, George did not know what to do with his life.Part of himself had died with Fred on the battlefield and he had nothing left to do but to pick up the pieces, in order to survive the pain.But when he was about to reach his goal and leave everything behind, an object from the past reappeared before him, making him fall back into despair.(Because certain bonds areindestructible.)





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, there. This is my first ff on the HP world, even if I'm a huge fan of these books and films. I'm not sure why I needed to start with this specific fanfiction, about the relationship between these two amazing characters.  
> I tried my best to convey as many emotions as possible but english is not my first language so bear with me. Also, I do not have a beta reader so, you know, errors might appear at some point.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> PS: the song I mention troughout the ff is **Can you hold me by NF ft. Britt Nicole**  
>  PPS: **Disclaimer; this work is pure fantasy; characters are not mine whatsoever, nor it is the magic universe described here. I don't get paid to write stuff, I do it just for fun. Enjoy.**

 

 

 

 _It feels like a tear in my heart_  
_Like a part of me missing_  
_And I just can't feel it_  
_I've tried and I've tried_  
_And I've tried_

 

 

 

George felt the cold water wrinkling around him.

Naked in his bathtub, he had been there for the last couple of hours. From the restroom’s window, he could see Diagon Alley woke up in a rare and quite September light, people running around, chatting lightly and laughing with a renovated hopeful spirit. The war was over, again, and it looked like forever.

George wasn’t so sure about it, he knew way to well that conflicts usually return with devastation and death, no matter how hard everyone try. It was just human nature.

But, right now, there were fine. They will be for a bit.

With a heavy sigh, he got out of the tub, the cold crawling under his skin and into his bones. Avoiding the mirror on the wall, like he had being doing for three whole months, he dried himself with a clean towel, brushed his teeth, shaved, put deodorant on and out of there. He went directly in his (theirs) bedroom, changing in an everyday outfit, jeans and a dark blue sweater, before heading toward the little kitchen for a brew.

The voices outside were increasing in volume and George could not stand them anymore. He closed all the windows and silence returned.

 _Better_.

He drank his tea slowly, sitting on a used wood chair. There were two of them, on each side of the small table. One was less ruined, less warm, still in the same position as months ago like time had never passed.

 

_“We should really change them, all of them. We should change everything!”_

_“Why is that, Freddie?”_

_“Because now we can, Georgie. We could have all marble interiors.”_

_“I don’t know; marble is cold.”_

_“I’ll keep you warm.”_

 

He stood up immediately as that specific memory showed up in his mind like a bulb, heart aching and strangled with so many strings he couldn’t breathe. He shook his head, watching desperately his hands behind a wall of tears. He didn’t notice he had started crying. That house was his personal inferno, like muggles used to say. But at the same time it was the only place he could call home, not even their parent’s house felt right to him.

George knew he should probably move somewhere else, just for peace of mind and spirit. But not yet, maybe not ever.

A knock rescued him from his thoughts and the moment was gone. He fixed his face with his hands, trying to be presentable, and with a deep breath, he opened the main door. Angelina was there, in front of him, with a sweet smile on her beautiful face.

_How could she?_

“Hey, ‘morning.”

“Morning, George, hope you didn’t had breakfast ‘cause I bought some really good muggle pastries and, let me tell you, we should all gave them more credit for these!” said enthusiastically, entering the flat with a laugh and heading towards the small table in the living room, without mentioning his red eyes. She already knew, it was not necessary to talk about it.

“Thanks, but I’m not that hungry, Angie, and also… I was going to open the shop, I’m already late.”

She didn’t see that one coming, because she turned around so fast that the bag she had in her hands almost fell to the floor. She left all her stuff on the couch before speaking.

“Come again?”

“Yes, well, Ron… I mean, he couldn’t this morning, and he asked if I- ”

And Angelina wrapped him in a tight hug. She had some muscles.

“I’m glad.” She didn’t add anything else but he knew what she was saying. All the words not said out loud were a huge subtext but they were there, pulsing and meaningful.

She released him, watching him in the eyes like he was a frightened deer ready to run away. But George did not had the strength to act, to stop her, to pause the moment and reflect, to think. And what happened a second later was very clear and predictable. He knew that it would ended like this, all along.

The kiss was smooth, fragile, kind. George remained still with his eyes closed, hoping it ended soon enough.

It didn’t last long, at all, but it seemed an eternity.

“You ok?”

Angie was looking at him in a very different way, right now, attentive and scared to hurt him with her words. George was scared too.

“Yes, you?”

“You know I am. We should just… you know, take it slow.”

That single phrase was a really good summary of their relationship in the last months.

They were always close, since first year at Hogwarts, good friends. But then, Fred had been starting dating her, inviting her at the Yule ball, and George couldn’t stand the thought of it. It was their very first fight, and it went so bad that Lee had tried talking them through it with the help of Ron and Percy and Ginny. They couldn’t do anything else other than discuss the matter with Fred, who had no idea why his twin brother was acting that way.

George had treasured those moments so dearly and intimately in his mind, in order to recalled them during the worst nights, when all he could feel was pain.

 

_“Are we really fighting for a girl?”_

_“No.”_

_“Please, George, for fuck’s sake, talk to me! Are you jealous of me because I’m going with her to that stupid ball?”_

_“I said no! Just leave me be, ok?”_

_“You know I can’t.”_

They started understanding the nature of their feelings that evening, almost five years ago. Another life, without war, pain, distress, death.

“George?” Angie brought him back to reality.

“I agree. Slow, yes.”

“You sure about this? I’m not here because I need any of it, I just care about you in every way you’ll allow me.” Her eyes were so trustworthy and safe, not passionate or burning but, at least, they were there. Alive.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

 


	2. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George didn’t walk in the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop in a very long time, before war happened at least. 
> 
> (And Ron was there when the emotions arrived.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where George tries to cope with the Fred loss in his own way. And, also, his family is there for him.

_Tears on my face I can't take it_   
_If lonely is a taste then it's all that I'm tasting_   
_Do you hear my cry?_

 

 

George didn’t walk in the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop in a very long time, before war happened at least. After that, Ron took care of the business and became an important part of it when George could not even think straight, or walk or _eat_.

For the first couple of hours, it was strange; almost like reemerging from a very dark hole, which had being surrounding him for long enough to leave him adrift. Therefore, it was only natural that normal routine looked strange and unfamiliar to him. He was not alone in this, obviously. Ron had employed some young people to help with clients and George was grateful for it. The business was doing amazingly and nowadays the Weasley family was highly known, famous and respected for multiple reasons: their involvement in the war, for opening the most profitable shop in Diagon Alley during a crisis period and their connection with Harry _The_ _Hero_ Potter.

All the employees where speechless when they saw him walking in, but they didn’t say anything other than some informal _good morning_ and _hello_. The place was already packed with young children running around, parents laughing and older kids chatting of possible pranks.

George just informed the girl at the checkout desk that she could find him in his office in the back if she needed him and walked out of the main room.

Silence, again. _Better_.

He did not consider that _his_ office was, in reality, _their_ office.

And when he stood at the threshold of it he just held his breath, like a knife was trespassing his chest. He didn’t registered stepping in, looking around and _searching_ for his _twin_ like he was searching for air. 

Fred wasn’t there anymore, with him. They had spent so many hours, so many days in that little office, without worries or pressure even if war was coming to hunt them down. They were just happy, like nothing and no one could had touch them or ruin their dreams.

Now, George had to deal with the illusion of a possible future in a far away universe where Fred didn’t die, where they were not brothers, where they could had had a house, a family together. For as long as possible.

He sat at his brother writing desk and noticed that Ron had not touched anything on it, not even a pen. There were pages and pages with Fred rounded calligraphy to dive in, animated photos of them and the rest of the family, Bill and Fleur wedding day, an old article from their Wildfire Whiz-bangs show when Umbridge was still Hogwarts headmistress. So many memories in which he could lose himself in, a pile of it to catalog and organize in his memory.

Nostalgia was like a warm blanket on his shoulders, reassuring and familiar like Fred’s arms around him at night.

And with that easy comfort, he started to dig up their lives.

 

 

Ron arrived very late in the afternoon, almost at seven. George was still there, didn’t stop his work not even for five minutes, too eager to collect as much as possible. He was not so sure about what he was collecting, what he was even doing there, alone in the dark with just a couple of lights on, reading anything his brother had written before- _well_.

“Hey.” Ron looked at him in shook, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I couldn’t stay at home anymore. I had to get out.” explained George, not bothering to reciprocate the stare.

“I see,” said the younger, watching uncomfortably around him. “I was wondering if you would like to come at mom’s this Sunday. She said-”

“You know my answer.” Whispered George, interrupting him.

“Well, doesn’t hurt anybody if I ask again, does it? Well, expect maybe mom and dad.” Continued Ron, approaching his desk.

“Stop, Ron, please…”

“Well, I’m just saying because mom wants to see you and if you don’t want to go see her, she might come visit you in the next few days and she would _not_ move from your flat for a week, at least. Your choice.”

“Did she say that?”

“Verbatium.”

George sighed, a bit annoyed with his family. Not really, tough, but nonetheless…

“Ok, I’ll be there.”

“Also,” continued Ron, with more enthusiasm.

“What?”

“She said that if you want to bring your _friend-”_

George froze immediately and Ron noticed.

“What do you mean?” more annoyed than necessary.

“I m-mean Angelina; she knows that you two are close and-”

“Stop there. She’s not coming with me, we are just friends.”

“Exactly. I didn’t imply _anything_ else just- ”

“I said no, for fuck’s sake!” Honestly, George didn’t know why he reacted that way. Ron was kind, thoughtful, such as mom, but the idea of Angie and him more than friends, closer than they already were, it was a big _no_ for him. Presenting her at the rest of the family was a huge, massive, step he didn’t want to take.

It was so clear, now, in his head. How could he even thought about kissing her, that morning? Let her so close to him to violate his private space like just another _person_ did before? How did that happened?

And in just a second, he realized how much he did deceive her.

“Listen, George. I don’t know what are you thinking, I don’t know how to talk to you at times, but I know what is like to lose a brother,” Ron said, whispering in the silence.

George didn’t want to hear any of his words but it would had been harder if he just left. He needed to feel like he wasn’t the only one in pain.

“Fred was my brother too, George, but I’d never know what feels like to lose a twin, there’s a major difference. I’d never know, I hope, how it’s like to lose a son. However, we are here for you, for mom, for dad. And if we stay together… we could survive the pain, at least.”

George stared at the dark for a bit, before standing up. He went to light up the fireplace as he used to do, hoping he could avoid the cold feeling he felt inside.

He was staring at the vibrant flames when he spoke again.

“It’s… it’s like a hollow in my chest, I don’t know how to cover it or fill it. Sometimes, at night, I just watch the sealing and I ask myself why him, why him among all of them.” With that lump in his throat, it was difficult to talk without crying like a baby. Fred would have laughed.

“Everything reminds me of him, _constantly_. And,” he gulped and dried his tears, “and I can’t _breathe_.”

Ron was beside him immediately, hugging him like he was the big brother and not the contrary. He stayed there, helping him closing the shop and walking him home before leaving. He had to get back in the little apartment he shared with Harry, near the Minister of Magic where the Auror center was located. He was so proud of both of them and grateful for Ron helping him with everything.

But George knew he couldn’t rely on him forever.

 

That evening, when he went to sleep, he dreamed of laughs and butterbeers drunk in the night, long walk on the bench of the black lake and whispers behind Hogwarts bed curtains.

He dreamed of stolen kisses and intense stares and happiness.


	3. Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George found something while reorganizing the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on the next chapter which will be way longer than this one. Sorry for this short update but I couldn't add to the next, due to the fact that I want that one to be the center of the story.
> 
> Have a nice day everyone!

 

 

_J_ _ust wrap me in your arms, in your arms_

_I don't wanna be nowhere else_

_Take me from the dark, from the dark_

_I ain't gonna make it myself_

 

 

 

The next day went better, overall. He helped a bit with clients, especially young ones lost in awe around the store. He laughed a bit because he remembered perfectly when _they_ used to go to Zonko with the same stupid expression of excitement.

After a couple of hours, he retired in the office and continued sorting out all the things Fred had left.

Messy as usual but George liked him that way.

Before he noticed the clock again, it was noon. There were a lot of stuff around him, on both the desk and the floor, and it was time to clean up the room, just a bit. He had been avoiding this moment for over three months and he had refused to let other people touch anything.

George had finally convinced himself that it was a good point where to start to regain his life back. Or, at least, half of it. He was intimately proud of this little achievement.

He didn’t had the occasion to speak with Angie about the kiss but it was something really important to solve as soon as possible. He could not risk hurting the only friend he had, no matter the reasons. He choose to send her an owl with a piece of paper to ask her for a chat the next day; the answer was a direct and simple _yes_.

George didn’t know exactly what to say her, if it was more honest telling her all the truth about him and Fred or to come up with a good excuse for them to just remain friends.

‘One problem at the time’, he thought.

 

He headed to the next room, a very small kitchen dedicated to personnel only, and he prepared a spicy brew with cinnamon, cloves and ginger. He felt refreshed immediately.

When he get back in the office with the hot mug in his hands, George stood in the middle of the room watching the walls around him. There were other photos of them from when they opened the store for the first time, sheets with old and new ideas of toys and pranks.

Above the door, there was a huge portrait of them: tie and elegantly dressed, their faces where happy and calm, smiling like idiots. So young and complete. George couldn’t took his eyes off of Fred, he looked bold and fiery even through the paper like he was still in front of him.

 _But he was not_ , George had to remind it very clearly. For a couple of days after the war, his mind was an infinite road of tricks and vivid dreams, as if his brain and body had to cover the sorrow with lies in order to survive. Hermione was the only one whom, when he regained real consciousness, told him that he had been asking of his twin in loop, no recollection of his death.

He still did not remember that moment, and he had no desire of reliving it.  

George get closer to the painting, holding his breathe.

 

 

_“It’s very cool, don’t you think?”_

_“Yes, of course. Where do we put it?”_

_“Here! What do you think?”_

_“So you can watch yourself even when you’re working from your desk?”_

_“No, so I can watch you when you’re not here.”_

The gulp in his throat returned as the previous day. The hot tea helped a bit to calm him down again and when he finished it he took his wand and waved it in the air; the second later, the portrait was in his hands.

He sat down on the armchair near the fireplace, with the object on his lap. Touching it felt so unreal; after being so happy, everything else was meaningless. The fingers trailed around Fred face, his profile was vivid and secure like a cozy home. Broad shoulders, wider than George’s, long hairs and hands on his waist as a real businessman.

George was so lost in Fred image that it did not notice at first. In the front pocket of his vest, there was something out of place. It looked like a piece of black plastic, something that his father would have collected with the rest of his _muggly_ objects.

George did not know what it was, really. A simple _finitae incantatem_ did the trick and he found himself staring at a little squared plastic object, with a sticker on it with his name on it. The calligraphy was well known.

 _Freddy_ wrote it. Why? What was it?

George tried so hard to recollect his ideas, a turmoil of emotions and tears devastatingly near at the corner of his eyes.

Fred left something for him, obviously, a message or a puzzle to decode, almost as if he had known that he would not had survived the war.

Ans now it was up to George searching for the meaning.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
